


Salvation

by nanlicia



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Kissing, M/M, Religion, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7329865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanlicia/pseuds/nanlicia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caleb has not had a moment alone with Ben since he's arrived at West Point and he is very concerned for how he is faring through all of this. He can tell from watching him he is upset, but has not had time to converse with him, to pull him from the depths of dark thoughts coursing through his brain. Until now. And this is what Caleb worried about, but this is not at all how he assumed the conversation would end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting to AO3 so I hope I use the tags correctly; if anyone needs something else tagged, lmk and I'll add it. :)
> 
> This is for tumblr user @numrich for fueling this particular fire.

Sunlight filters through the thin windows illuminating the tiny floating dust specs which travel through the mostly barren room. The sturdy floors and fancy armchairs are covered in this dust, Caleb knows, though they appear to be as untouched by it as the other occupants in the room. One seat in particular has a regal set to its legs, stunning filigree etched into the arms as well and Caleb wonders what poor sod these items were requisitioned from. Who once owned these chairs, how did they come to be in the property of the United States militia? Whose blood soaks these cushions?

Caleb’s mind has taken a dark turn even in the bright of day but he’d rather focus on this thought for a minute longer, just another moment before he returns his attentions to the man at the other end of the room. 

Dwelling on the seats gives his mind reprieve from dwelling on his friend’s soul. How is he faring? What runs through his head? What foul thought has etched its way into his mind and soaks through every crevice so as to plague him with the perpetual frown he’s worn these three days?  


Caleb’s moment has gone.

He raises his eyes to the table across the room, two men leaning over it as they separate the documents they’ve only just finished writing.

Major John Andre’s interrogation has officially been completed. His every word and moment of silence and miniscule flick of his eyelashes has been recorded and the General has locked himself away to consider the next action.

Colonel Hamilton has been meticulously scanning each page of their documents from the interrogation, searching for hours for some written cause to be lenient. Caleb believes he will find none.

Ben, however, has sat at his side steadfastly, pouring over the pages with as much care as Hamilton has haste. He hasn’t spoken much and Caleb wonders if he’s as committed to the search as Hamilton. By the tense set of his shoulders and the frown lines now sinking into his forehead Caleb is concerned there is far more weighing on his mind than Andre’s execution.

They have not had a moment alone since Caleb has arrived at West Point. No moment of leave to breathe without the betrayal of Arnold hanging over them like the dark cloud it is. Caleb has not seen Ben smile since last at camp with Anna shortly before she departed for the city.

She had put her finger against the tip of his nose and told him to behave himself. Caleb had turned his bewildered expression toward Ben who was failing to stop the corners of his mouth from turning up. He laughed then, swatting Anna’s hand away saying “don’t point at me like that” and she had barked a laugh and Caleb could only marvel at their joy.

And now the last image he has of Annie is her panicked face as he left her in the middle of the campgrounds, running for a horse – running for Ben. And Ben hasn’t been relieved of that frown since Caleb’s arrival.

Three days ago.

They’ll be traveling tomorrow, picking up and making way to meet the board of military officers who will determine Major Andre’s fate. Caleb cannot let another night pass without speaking with Ben. He should not travel with such evident distress.

Colonel Hamilton shoves a parchment under Ben’s nose, allowing him seconds to scan it and when Ben meets his gaze and gives a sharp nod Hamilton shoots out of his seat, the legs scratching into the floorboards and leaving their mark of protest at the treatment. More undue duress for such out of place artifacts.

Hamilton disappears around the corner to the main hallway and leaves Ben at the table, his face downturned toward the many stacks of pages and bound notes haphazardly piled atop each other where Hamilton was working. He has reached over and begun to close the books and neatly stack them.

“Ben?” Caleb asks, his voice raspy and all too silent in the large room.

For his part Ben hardly reacts. He hums in question, fingers carefully straightening the pages before him.

“Ben.”

As his voice has found solid form in the heated air of the room Ben is forced to acknowledge it properly, raising his head and letting his eyes land on Caleb with all the weight of the dust on the armchairs.

“Are you ok?”

He jerks his head. “I am fine.”

“Tallboy,” Caleb says, gently and yet enough to admonish. “You should know by now what I mean. Are you ok?” He repeats the question with meaning, a sharp reminder of a bloody lip and a flash of sandy brown hair falling in front of bright blue eyes, slender fingers cradling an aching chin.

Ben inhales sharply, shoulders rising and slowly setting back into place.

If Caleb were another man he would deny himself the belief that the mere show of sincere concern from Caleb is enough to ease something inside of Ben. As he is only Caleb Brewster he foregoes the doubt and allows himself to believe that to be true.

“I… I’m...” Ben looks away, eyes falling on the many stacks of paperwork atop the table. “I believe I may-“

“Major Tallmadge,” says Hamilton, breaking into the room and disturbing the single moment Caleb’s been waiting to have with his friend for three long days. “The General wishes to see you.”

Ben thanks the other man, bringing his gaze to meet Caleb’s with actual weight this time, the pull of his eyes away from him like the seat clawing at the floorboards. Caleb knows what that look means.

Later.

As Ben exits the room Caleb watches Hamilton standing in the doorway, blankly staring ahead, fists clenched at his side.

“What is it?” Caleb asks.

Hamilton’s eyes take a moment to move, sliding over to Caleb with the recognition one gives a stranger. Caleb supposes they are strangers, however Hamilton seems out of sorts; he supposes the man might give the same look to a lover in this moment.

“He’s going to hang,” Hamilton says. “I fear I can do nothing to stop it.”

Caleb tries not to be rude. “He’s a spy.”

“He’s more than-“ Hamilton stops, visibly collecting himself before speaking again, bitter and angry. “Yes. He is a spy.”

The air has grown thick and dense; Caleb feels as though it is unbreathable, the dust suffocating in its search for a solid body to stick to.

Hamilton is attempting to help pardon a man for espionage. Caleb cannot imagine what reason he finds in his own mind, but more importantly he wonders if any British officer would do the same were any of the Culper Ring caught – if Ben were caught.

Would he be given his uniform and the firing squad? Or would Ben meet his maker hanging from a noose tied with all their sacrifices for freedom’s sake?

Caleb cannot breathe. The room is spinning in his mind as he makes quick work of exiting the house, the crisp midday breeze whispering across his face and brushing away all remnants of dust clinging to his skin and lingering in his beard.

Caleb realizes there is no part of this war which will not leave its mark.

::::::

It is dark when Caleb goes in search of Ben.

He waited in his tent to be called upon, staring at the entrance willing Ben to come to him. But it has been hours and he cannot wait any longer. The idea that Ben is sequestering himself to dwell on his own agony is cause enough to seek him out on his own.

When he comes upon the tent he makes little show for propriety by undoing the ties on the flaps and pushing them aside to enter without even announcing his arrival.  
Ben is seated on his cot, elbows on his knees. He barely reacts to Caleb’s entrance, a small nod all the recognition Caleb needs to know he’s been expecting him but he would not have sought him out on his own.

Caleb takes up a spot leaning against the small writing table in the center of the small space, crossing his arms at his chest.

“I saw Frenchie has left.”

Ben nods. “The Marquis has gone to confer with his men; General Washington knows we’ll need to do much to maintain that relationship now.”

“What else has the General said?”

Ben’s jaw clenches, the first sign of anything other than shock and upset on his face since Caleb has arrived and that is a welcome sight indeed.

“He is… considering his options.”

“What options?”

“Whether to try Andre as a solder or as a spy.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Aye.” Ben shakes his head, face twisting into a look of disgust. “He does not seem to care that one can be both, and must be both in order to do well in such a position as Andre’s. He is not even considering what such a choice might mean to the soldiers of this army whose faith has been rocked and crushed by this blow. But he is considering Hamilton’s words carefully.”

“You don’t believe Andre should meet the firing squad?”

“I believe he should hang the same as Nathan did.”

Caleb is not taken aback by the vitriol in Ben’s voice and he is not surprised that Ben has been thinking of his college friend in this time. He is not even shocked that Ben is speaking so plainly about his questioning of General Washington – this has been a common occurrence since being promoted to Head of Intelligence.  
What Caleb is surprised about is that Ben has not even a lick of sympathy or doubt. Caleb has none, to be certain. But Ben has a history of self-doubt, a record of sympathy placed in the wrong person’s fate and Caleb wonders when such steel has locked itself in Ben’s heart.

Caleb has let the silence fill the space for too long, and he would not have spoken on this statement in any matter. He’s never said a word about Nathan Hale to Ben and he likely never will, for fear of revealing his own irrational jealousies at the kinship the two men shared. He only feels shame he cannot think of any encouragement to provide Ben with in regards to it.

“I let him go.”

Ben’s voice is quiet now, reflective and soft even in the quiet air of the evening.

“Sorry?” Caleb asks.

“Arnold. I could have shot him - I had him and he did nothing to avoid it... He stood there like an honorable solider might.”

“The man was without honor, Ben, he was trading information…” Caleb trails off as Ben turns a hard gaze toward him. “You always want to believe the best in people, I understand that, but they are not worth your respect, they are not worthy of you in any capacity.”

“You think I do not know this?” Ben asks, and there is a storm brewing overhead. “You think it has not been made abundantly clear to me that men whom I find honorable, inspiring - heroic even - that they don’t prove their own hubris, their own shortcomings to me? I see it Caleb, in all of them. What a fool I’ve been to think them any more than what they are when all they are is men.”

Caleb flinches at the disgust in Ben’s voice, harsh against his ears and unwavering in the humid air of the small tent. Caleb knows not what to say, what placations to put forth, but Ben does not wait for him to offer any half-thought out words.

“I’ve seen Washington betrayed again and again by his own arrogance. He will be lenient on Andre and think himself a generous General but he will leave room enough for disorder to spill through the ranks just as he left room for Gamble to murder Nathaniel when he refused to trust my instinct after doing the job he charged me with. And who then walked away with blood on their hands?” Ben clenches his jaw again, shaking his head repeatedly in anger. “It was certainly not Washington.

“And you would like to speak to me about believing the best in people then let’s not forget Reverend Worthington. I truly wanted to believe that in the midst of this wretched hell there was still something sacred to cling to. Something relevant left from my Father’s God – what a farce that was. Again I’m covered in blood and this time it’s ordained by our Lord. Caleb, what do men turn to when they turn away from God?”

Ben has turned wild watery eyes on him for the first time since this outburst began. He is shaking, hands unsteady and lips moving even when he is not speaking. Caleb pushes away from the table, standing awkwardly unsure what to do. He wishes to barrel across the space between them, envelop the man in his arms and tell him things will work out for the best. That everything will be ok. That he is not a murderer of God.

He does not know what Ben is searching for as he stares at him. What answer does he seek, please Lord strike me with it and I shall offer it up on my knees to his ears, Caleb pleads. Where is Ben’s father’s God when Caleb ever needs Him? Where is He when Ben needs Him?

“What have I become in His absence? A murderer and a spy and a crook. I have traveled a path my father thought dignified but I spat in the face of every sermon he ever gave. Who am I without God but a man?”

Ben’s mouth screws up and he turns his face away, his hands clenched into fists pressing into his leg, shoulders tense.

“Men are weak,” Ben says quietly. “Men idolize other men and seek glory to rival that of God as though we have a chance or a right. Men are naïve in the belief that we are worthy of God and God will turn His back on every last one of us for turning our backs on Him.”

“Is that what you believe?” Caleb drops himself down on the cot next to Ben.

He overestimated how much space was there and ends up pressing their sides into each other. He turns so his chest is pressed into Ben’s arm and Ben watches him wearily.

From this close Caleb can feel his labored breathing in every part of him, the way his arm moves against him and the way his leg is shaking pressed along his thigh and the way that his breath actually blows across his face. But Ben isn’t looking away and Caleb won’t either.

“Do you believe God has turned His back on you? That you have turned away from Him? Ben you are not a murderer or a thief, though you are a spy and a damn good one. You’ve organized this ring to the fullest of your capability and-“

“It wasn’t enough-“

“-Don’t interrupt, I let you speak, let’s take it in turns.”

Ben doesn’t say anything but Caleb sees the way his eyes widen, how his Adam’s apple bobs in the column of his throat. Caleb sees how his lips have parted and way his face has gone blank; he is unsure what to expect from Caleb next.

“Ben, you have done your best with this ring and even Washington must admit to that now. Sackett believed in you and you have not let him down in any way. You’ve taken what he taught you and become truly adept at your position as Head of Intelligence, I don’t care if you tried to resign two months ago. You have made this work. And that is honorable. That is dignified.

“You think you’re a murderer for what happened with Worthington? You were doing your job. You were doing what is necessary in time of war, Ben, and you were doing it so more of our friends did not die.”

Ben does look away now, releasing a breath Caleb didn’t realize he was holding. The air leaves him and he completely deflates, his face pinching and Caleb can see he is holding the tears in his eyes just at bay.

“Perhaps if I’d not have been so naïve more of our friends would be alive.”

“Tallboy,” Caleb lightly places his hand on Ben’s thigh, squeezing softly to offer comfort in some way he’s not aware of. Ben looks down at his hand on his thigh and Caleb can see the tears beginning to trail down his cheek. “Had you not been at your post, and someone the likes of Scott still been there, none of our friends would have made it this far at all.”

Ben shakes his head, screwing his eyes shut. “Please don’t, Caleb.”

“Don’t what? Don’t tell you the truth?”

“Don’t tell me things that are not true, don’t appease me when I’m not-“

“Appease you? What kind of man do you take me for, Tallmadge?”

Caleb squeezes his hand on his friend’s thigh and Ben looks up at him again, eyes shining in the low lamplight. Strands of hair have fallen from its braid and hangs in his face and Caleb wants to push it aside but he keeps his fingers where they are, digging them into the man’s leg a little more.

“I care about you, you dumb bastard. I don’t say these things out of some notion of appeasement, I say them because I believe them. Have you ever known me to lie, even to save you from the truth? I will always tell you how I see it, and how I see it is this:

“Any blood on your hands is the cost of war. Even Sackett’s blood. I loved that pretentious bastard but I’ll tell you something right now, he’d hate to know you’re distressing yourself like this over him. He’d rather you be looking for a way to get back in touch with Culper Jr and rally him to our cause once more.

“And God? Has not turned his back on you, neither do I believe you’ve turned your back on him. Or you wouldn’t be torturing yourself like this. Maybe you’re Catholic and we never knew? Only ones I know who dwell in the misery of everything. Christ himself was a martyr, a man as you say, but even he saw horrible things and made them light again.

“That is what you do when you’re in a room Ben. You make them light again. Your exit sucks all the air and brightness out of a room, all the intelligent thought leaving with you.

“Maybe you are just a man, Ben. But so am I. So are we all. Nothing to be done about that, but don’t let it consume you. Don’t let it fool you into believing that makes us any less worthy. Of God, or glory, or salvation.

“I can’t say with any certainty what I believe about God. But I believe if your father’s God is real, he smiles upon your soul, Ben. He would save your soul in a heartbeat. He would see you as the soldier you are, as the spy you are – the man you are and he would never turn away from you. Your misdeeds be dammed, Ben, you will not be.

“Maybe you can be a fool, naïve and trusting and passionate to your cause. You are a dedicated servant of this army and even God can recognize that.”  
There isn’t much more Caleb knows to say. He keeps his hand where it is, his eyes where they are, his body where it presses against Ben.

He wants him to know that now, in this moment Caleb will be with him. He will be with him through all the moments and he will not let him be consumed by these thoughts alone. Caleb will not turn from him, now or ever.

Ben’s eyes are locked on him, searching his face for something Caleb is unsure of. Caleb calms himself, breathing deeply and allowing his friend to find whatever it is he’s looking for. Reassurance of his sincerity.

If Caleb were a better man he’d remove himself from such intimate quarters with the man now. But Caleb has never claimed to be a better man. He moves not an inch, memorizing all the ways which their bodies are touching, noting how the lines of their legs melt into each other and how their hips hardly touch at this angle, how ben’s shoulder is at just the right height Caleb could lean forward and rest his forehead against it.

Caleb wishes he were a better man, for Ben’s sake. He is not, but he is also not so horribly cruel that he would act on any of the thousands of thoughts running through his mind now. His friend needs him to be a better man, and Caleb has spent the better part of his life trying to be worthy enough.

Maybe this is what Ben feels for his father’s God.

“Thank you,” Ben says, with such softness in his voice Caleb wishes he could wrap the words around himself forever. Perhaps he will. “I do not know what to say, I cannot say I’ve dismissed all that I am feeling but… Caleb I… I appreciate what you have said tonight, I do not know how to express that adequately but please know how much I do.”

Caleb smiles. “Always, Tallboy.”

They sit another moment like this, and Caleb can feel the energy of the fight seeping out of Ben’s body with every breath he takes. That is enough for now, Caleb thinks. To calm his mind enough to sleep, to travel on the morrow, to get him through the rest of this war.

Get him through the rest of this war, Caleb thinks. Let him live a long happy life, that’s all Caleb means to do.

He squeezes once more to Ben’s leg, sighing and going to rise.

“You’ve a long day tomorrow, Ben. Better rest up.”

“Caleb, wait.”

As Caleb was just standing, Ben has taken hold of his arm and pulled him back. Caleb falls half in the other’s lap, his other hand bracing himself on the man’s shoulder.

“Ben?”

“I…”

Ben has always worn his emotions on his face. Caleb has always known how to read them there, can recognize most of them. He can see how torn Ben seems but also how shocked he is over something. How in awe he is.

“What is it, Ben?”

Caleb tries to shift off of him but Ben tightens his grip on his arm, bringing his other arm around to hold him in place at the hip.

Neither man says another word.

Caleb feels the energy in the room change as Ben’s eyes, dark in the shadows of the room as the lamplight begins to flicker out, drop to Caleb’s lips.

Caleb feels all air leave his body in a sharp stab to the chest, feels heavy and light all at once on Ben’s lap, with his hands on him, fingers digging into his arm and shoulder solid beneath his own hand.

Caleb has always known Ben to be the better man Caleb wishes he could be himself. Caleb has spent years trying to live up to the standards Ben should keep for the men he surrounds himself with, even when Ben has made every effort to bring him in as he is.

Caleb has never once believed Ben to be cruel. And he has never once tried to be himself.

But in this moment, their lips beginning to pull toward each other, Caleb cares little for how cruel either of them can be. Let them be cruel to themselves, selfish and naïve enough to carry this out.

The moment of bliss when it comes to fruition may be enough to live off for a lifetime.

Caleb can sacrifice one moment of Ben’s cruelty for a lifetime of his love. He is tired of denying himself the pleasure, tired of being a good man, tired of waiting.

He tilts his head just so, bringing his lips to meet Ben’s in a moment of pure weakness.

Men are weak. Men are naïve. Men seek glory.

Caleb has found that glory in his best friend’s lips, with his hands on his body and his eyelashes fluttering against Caleb’s own cheeks.

Caleb pulls away to suck in a breath, yanking himself from Ben’s grasp and only allowing the despair on Ben’s face to last less than a moment as he fully situates himself in Ben’s lap, wrapping one arm around his back and bringing the other to caress his face.

Ben lets out a breath, shallow and deep all at once.

His eyes fall again to Caleb’s lips and Caleb will take every last punishment God may heap upon his soul for the murder and the spying and the thievery, as Ben has put it, but he cannot believe this here will be cause for punishment. Not the softness in Ben's face or the fire in his eyes. All the same he will not wait for God to present him with salvation.

Ben takes his mouth with passion, sweeping his tongue across his lips and burning himself into every ounce of Caleb, fingers scratching into his back, hair brushing against their cheeks, bodies undulating into each other.

Caleb has found all the salvation he needs, and he has found it in a man.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a reminder that if anyone needs something tagged you can let me know and I'll add it. 
> 
> Find me at anamolly02.tumblr.com!! :)


End file.
